


The Lightning Strike

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having to pick up England from his canceled layover, America insists on stopping at a rest area on the highway to watch the sunset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lightning Strike

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ November 14, 2009.
> 
> Written with the prompt, "I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me" and the specific request for girl!America.

“It’s pretty,” America declared, gripping the handrail and looking out over the scenery, watching the sunset behind mountains and trees and wilderness she used to know so well and now only knew from tourist brochures and vantage points.   
  
England adjusted his tie, standing beside her, one hand resting lightly on the guardrail. He shifted from watching the sunset to glancing at her, the way her smile almost seemed serene in the dipping sunlight, brushing through her hair gently, fluttering in the wind.   
  
He turned away. “I suppose. If you like that kind of thing.”  
  
She turned towards him, and her smile was bright. “Who doesn’t like sunsets?”   
  
“People who don’t want the sun to set,” England said easily, and turns towards the evening wind, feeling it brush over his face and his bare throat.   
  
“That’s dumb,” she decided, frowning thoughtfully at the scenery before turning towards him, hip jutted out to one side. The wind played with the hem of her sundress and he watched it flutter around her legs before remembering to lift his gaze and meet her eyes. The frown was gone now, replaced with a small smile. “It always comes back up again, anyway.”   
  
“Brilliant observation, America,” England said, voice dry but amused.   
  
She puffed up a bit, and pursed her lips together. “Don’t be mean.”   
  
“I’m not.”   
  
“Hmph,” she snorted, fingers drumming along the guardrail absently, beating out a small rhythm that England did not recognize. She continued in this manner before she straightened her posture and strolled up towards him.   
  
He watched her approach, wary. He raised his eyebrows in silent question as she stood in front of him.   
  
“Are you making this all into a metaphor again?” she asked him. “About the sun?”   
  
He laughed, and rolled his eyes. “No, America. I am not.”   
  
“Because you do that sometimes, when you say stuff and then you have to go and see meaning in pointless things you say or I say and it’s really annoying.” She raised her eyebrows, mimicking his expression. “Not everything has to mean something, England.”   
  
“I’m not making the sun into a metaphor, you daft fool.”   
  
“Good,” she said, and beamed at him. She turned back towards the landscape, eyes tracing the jagged edges of the mountains and the flow of trees in the valley.   
  
He sighed. He turned away from the scene and went to sit down on the nearby picnic bench. The car was parked a few yards away, the only car in the lot. It was a small rest area off the side of the highway, and as the afternoon drifted off into the evening, America had insisted on stopping and watching the sunset.   
  
“We should get going soon,” England called out to her, watching America’s back as she stood as close to the wilderness as the rail would allow her. She glanced at him over his shoulder, so he knew he heard her. “We need to drive a long ways if we’re to get there in time.”   
  
She turned around, resting both her hands behind her against the railing, leaning back. Balancing on her heels, she watched him over on the picnic bench a moment before smiling. “But with me driving, we’ll definitely get there in time. Don’t worry. It’s okay to take a break—stretch out your legs and all that.”   
  
England frowned. “It’s better to get there as soon as possible.”   
  
“It’s your fault for ending up in some random city I needed to come pick you up from.”  
  
“It’s hardly my fault that my layover was cancelled, America.” He eyed her. “In fact, it’s probably your fault, as it is your airport.”   
  
She huffed at him, and it almost looked like she was pouting. She pushed back off the railing and strolled towards him, blue eyes locked on him. She swayed.   
  
“You think too much,” she decided, standing in front of him, hands on her hips.   
  
He raised one eyebrow, the very epitome of deadpan. “I think to you, it seems like everyone thinks too much.”  
  
She huffed up again. “What do you mean by that?”   
  
“That you rarely ever think.”   
  
She walked forward so that she could aim a kick towards his arm. It was in jest, though her pout seemed genuine, and he easily dodged it, grabbing her ankle to knock her off balance a moment before he let his hand fall away. She stumbled a bit, then smoothed her hands over the fabric of her dress.   
  
“Hmph.” She balked at him. “I think plenty.”   
  
“About nothing of consequence, I’m sure.”   
  
She eyed him, then started walking towards him again, swaying in time with the wind. He watched her, unsure what to make of the approach, or of the look in her eyes.   
  
She sat on him, shifting her hips and straddling his lap. He sputtered but wasn’t able to voice much of a protest, not that she would have listened anyway. Her hands, in contrast, were hesitant as she placed them precariously on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt lightly.  
  
Her sundress pooled around her hips, and he watched the curve of her thigh as it arched up to meet the rest of her body. He knew that his face must be bright red but he couldn’t say anything or look away from her.   
  
America watched him with that sly smile of hers, though her eyes remained almost shy. It was a strange look, and one that England would never really be accustomed to.   
  
“… What?” he asked when she didn’t say anything right away.   
  
Backlit against the sunset, her hair glowed in the dying sunlight, golden and soft and fluttering around her face. She shifted closer, blue eyes clear and hooded as she watched his expression. He stared at her, trying to remain neutral despite the proximity, as she lifted one hand and almost touched his face—before she thought better of it, recoiled from such intimacy, and instead just kept giving him that sly smile.   
  
“I never know what you’re thinking,” she told him.   
  
He watched her, his eyes flickering over her face, over the smile and the eyes, over the way the sun lit up her hair or kissed along her bare shoulders, the way her legs curled around him, the fabric of her dress bunching up in his lap.   
  
“Yes, well…” he began.   
  
“I want you to only think of me,” she confessed, the words hanging between them like a promise. The shy look in her eye dissolved away, replaced with something far more confident and sure. The blue was too electric and he had to look away.  
  
But her hand did touch his face this time, only to turn him back so that their eyes locked. The smile faded slightly from her face, though not quite from her eyes, as the electric blue nailed him to his seat.   
  
“I don’t care what you think, as long as it’s about me.”   
  
There was a stilled silence after this declaration. The sun was sinking lower towards the horizon, and her eyelashes fluttered as she tried not to blink and lose even the smallest moment of his expression. He, in turn, stared at her with slightly delayed shock.   
  
England frowned, a deep crease furrowing into his brow. He didn’t say anything, and neither did America. Her fingers curled further into his clothing, as if afraid he would throw her off but it was long past the time when he could ever be truly rid of her presence. His hands shifted awkwardly, as if he wanted to touch her and not sure where to place his hands. He settled on letting them hang useless on either side of him, hovering near her thighs but not breaking the barrier and creating an intimate hold. She could feel the warmth from his hands.  
  
“Say something,” she urged and if it’d been anyone but America, her words would have sounded unsure or quiet. But it was America, so even when speaking slowly and softly, her words still could sound as confident as they need to, self-assured and self-contained.   
  
“I…” England began, and then trailed off when the right words didn’t come.   
  
She frowned, and arched her back slightly as she sat up straighter against him, one hand lifting from his shoulder to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. The hand quickly returned not to his shoulder, but instead rested heavily on the space between his shoulder and neck, palm pressing against the slope of his skin, fingers fiddling almost playfully with his shirt collar. England blinked up at her, his eyes locking on the lighting flashing in her clear blue eyes.   
  
“England,” she urged, expression surprisingly unreadable, given that it was America and she was usually the easiest of all to read, as she gazed down at him, shoulders thrown back in her confidence despite having placed herself in a vulnerable scenario.   
  
England, for his part, was feeling increasingly awkward as the seconds ticked by, trying to summon up the right words and only serving to confuse himself and the girl moments away from him.   
  
“… I think about you,” he finally said, finally managed to sling out the words—but not the words he wanted to say. He cleared his throat. “You make it damn impossible not to, I’ll have you know. You’re too loud, too attention-mongering.”   
  
Instead of recoiling or shooting back a protest, as England half-expected, America said nothing. The hand on his neck sloped up to cup his cheek and he forced himself to look into her eyes. She was smiling.   
  
“And do I monger your attention, England?”   
  
“That’s not something to be proud of,” England muttered. America beamed at him, her face lighting up as the last veins of sunlight drifted away from the world, leaving them in the early darkness, and still her face lit up the space between them, teeth flashing in an almost chaste, awkward manner, the corners of her eyes crinkling in pleasure.   
  
Her other hand, still on his shoulder, lifted to brush back her hair, tucking the golden strands behind her ear. She swallowed, thickly, and he watched her throat and the way her fingers pulled through her hair in an almost nervous motion.   
  
“You didn’t deny it,” she pointed out, then touched his face. Truly, this time. Her fingers brushed against his hair, over his ear, as the palm pressed against the curve of his jaw, holding still there and feeling the blush overtake his face again.   
  
“No, I suppose I didn’t,” England muttered. “Because it’s not a compliment to be so annoying that someone can’t even forget you when he wants to.”   
  
Her face was hovering closer than before, he realized dimly. He told himself it was so she could see his expression in the darkness. He cleared his throat, awkwardly fiddling with his hands, wanting to touch her but not sure where.   
  
“I’ll take what I can get,” she said, in all seriousness.   
  
“Hm…”  
  
Her thumb brushed over his cheekbone. She offered, almost hesitantly, softly so that despite how close they were he almost didn’t hear: “I think about you.”   
  
Her eyes flickered over his face and it was too much. He leaned up, capturing her mouth with his and kissing her. This seemed to be what she was waiting for because she breathed out, sank against him and coiling her arms around his neck, fingers digging into his hair and scraping against his scalp. He kissed her and she kissed him back, her mouth open to him, and her body flushed against his, back arching to press closer to him. He lifted his hands, finally, and placed them precariously on the small of her back, anchoring her close to him.   
  
When they pulled away, she breathed out his name against his mouth and he shivered in the darkness.   
  
She pressed against him, chest to chest, her body bent like a bow. His hands quivered for half a moment before he smoothed one hand down the slope of her spine, over her backside, and over one thigh, drawing her closer. She obeyed, pressing closer still to him, so that her breath fluttered over his neck, ghosting over his skin.   
  
“Mmm,” she hummed softly against his neck, and he could feel the arch of her smile against the column of his neck. He swallowed and she kissed the pulse thumping in his neck.   
  
His hand smoothed over the light fabric of her dress.   
  
She looked amused, laughed softly, despite the blush on her face. “Are you going to take advantage of me out in the darkness like this?”  
  
England sputtered. “Wh—”  
  
She laughed again, her expression still very amused despite the small strings of awkwardness in her posture, slumping her shoulders.   
  
“It’s cold.”  
  
“It’s night. And you only have that dress.”   
  
“Hmmm,” she hummed, and he found her arms encircling him, slipping beneath his jacket and holding close to his torso. “If I had a jacket I wouldn’t have the excuse to do this.”  
  
“It’s not as effective when you tell me it’s an excuse.”   
  
She breathed against his neck, a low, throaty laugh. He closed his eyes, listening to her breathing and feeling her heartbeat against his chest. She pulled back shortly thereafter, so she could look at his face, searching his eyes for something he wasn’t quite sure. She seemed to find what she was looking for, though, because her expression almost softened.   
  
He licked his lips. “It’ll probably be warmer in the car.”  
  
She sighed, annoyed.   
  
He rolled his eyes. “We have places we have to be, America.”   
  
She draped he arms over his shoulders again, giving him a blank expression, though her eyes flickered with a myriad of emotions. “I thought I just finished telling you to only think of me.”   
  
“I’m thinking of you driving the car to where we need to be. And I’m thinking of you getting to the meeting in plenty of time to not look like a late fool,” England shot back.   
  
“… That’s cheating,” she decided, but pulled back, standing up off his lap. He hated to admit that he missed having her so close. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet, frowning. “Alright, fine. I’ll drive us to our stupid meeting.”   
  
He followed her to the car, sliding into the passenger’s seat as she started up the engine, the dashboard’s lights lighting up her face, where her cheeks were still vaguely pink. He knew that his must be, too.   
  
“Are you still cold?”  
  
She angled him with a look. Then smiled. “Why don’t you come over here and warm me up?”  
  
England snorted, and flipped on the heating system for her.   
  
They drove off together.


End file.
